A Late Epiphany
by delicateswa-n
Summary: Between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. Edward and Bella have a late night discussion and Bella comes to a small revelation. One-Shot.


"Bella?"

His gentle voice pulled me into consciousness. I blinked, trying to find his face in the darkness of my bedroom. I soon focused on the familiar sight of his eyes, watching my face carefully, with deep concern lining his brow. I wondered briefly why he looked so worried, but stopped as soon as I remembered the dream I had just woken from.

"Was I talking?"

He nodded.

"What did I say?" I bit my lip.

"Not much…just muttering something about 'No…I can't.' But you were practically shaking."

He paused, waiting to gauge my reaction, I guessed. I did my best to keep my face composed.

"Bella, is something bothering you?"

I shook my head. "It was just a stupid dream." He might have believed me, if I hadn't shuddered just then. But then again he was Edward.

"Bella—"

"It's nothing, Edward. You don't need to be worried, I can handle it, because, like I said, there's nothing to handle."

I had been lying on my side, facing him, but he lifted himself over top of me. He hung there, with his face just inches above mine. Apparently, he wasn't going to accept my explanation.

"I'd probably be less worried if you just told me what was bothering you."

His tone was almost light-hearted. Half-joking. I considered how to answer him. I had nearly determined to not answer him at all, and just roll over and try to sleep, when all the joking playfulness dropped from his features. What remained was such true and intent concern that, as per usual, I was left incapable of _not_ giving in to his – as much I hated to admit it, fairly reasonable request. So, before I even knew what I was doing, I told him everything I was thinking.

"I just can't stop thinking about that one time when you said that you shouldn't exist. That you should've died back in 1918. That you wanted my life to continue as it would have without you. I mean, I usually am fine when I'm awake, but I can't really control my dreams. I know it's ridiculous, I mean, you're here, but I just hate—"

"That was bothering you _that_ much?" His words were wrapped in a flimsy layer of nonchalance, he was trying very hard not to let me see how mine had bothered him, but the pain behind them was on the very edge of breaking through the surface. I shouldn't have said anything. I knew that he would blame himself, that he would despise himself for the idea that he was hurting me.

"It's not that you said it, necessarily," I hurried to explain. I wanted him to understand that I was the one at fault, for overreacting. "It's that I can't…I don't want to…I hate trying to imagine my life without you."

"Bella, this isn't right. You shouldn't—" He started to counter me, but I interrupted.

"No, Edward, this is what I want. This _is_ what's right for me. I _know_ that you disagree. I _know_ you think this is wrong and that you're 'stealing my future' or something, but you aren't. _I'm_ choosing this. I'm choosing _you_." I paused to let that sink in. "And thinking about a life without you…it's not that I don't think I'd never find happiness, but school and work and visiting relatives and keeping track of elections and politics and grocery shopping all seems so…empty. I can see myself doing those things, but I can also see myself lying awake at night looking up at the stars and hoping with every worn out fiber of my being that there is _something_ more to life than living in a mediocre suburban neighborhood with a husband, white picket fence, and two kids." There were tears falling from my eyes by the time I finished talking. Even though I knew he would know I was crying, I tried to turn my head to the side and hide my tears. I didn't want to see his face. I was worried he'd be angry, because I clearly hadn't listened to his attempts to warn me. I had, but I wasn't sure he would see it that way.

I waited for him to speak, straining my neck and keeping my eyes squeezed shut, but the darkness remained silent. Then, in one slow and gentle motion, he lowered his head until his hair was just brushing my chin. His cool forehead rested against my neck as the rest of his body, which had been hovering over me, lowered and he slowly relaxed against me.

I couldn't move. I could hardly breathe. I didn't want to. The motion – the way he tucked his head under mine – everything was so…vulnerable. It was bizarre, laughable even; that _I_ should feel _his_ vulnerability, but there was no other word for it.

As slowly as he had, I relaxed. My breathing returned to normal. I stopped pushing my face as far as it could turn and brought it back until my eyes were resting on the plain white ceiling. My arms drew themselves up from the sheets and ever so carefully traced around his back, until they had lightly wrapped around him.

I wondered, briefly, as we lay there, if this was how it would feel if he could sleep. He often didn't seem like a seventeen-year-old, but he did now. He wasn't a century old, or a vampire struggling against his nature to be good. At this moment, however long it might last, he seemed to be a boy who was as much in over his head in this world of mythical creatures and moral dilemmas as I was.

It was so strange to perceive him as anything but strong and enduring. It made me wonder if I actually knew how hard he worked, how much effort it took, to try and keep my mind at ease. I doubted I'd ever really know. And suddenly, all I wanted was to hold him here until my arms grew weak. It came crashing down on me just how much he loved me. I knew, of course, that he loved me more than I could ever deserve, but this was different. This wasn't knowledge, it was understanding. _He loved me._ Enough to keep a brave face on everyday and never complain. Enough, to spend every night with me in case I had bad dreams. Enough to spend every moment with me attempting to be as human as possible because he thought I was worth it.

"Bella," he whispered. His voice was cautious, as if he was afraid to break the silence. "I'm sorry."

I thought for a minute. I let the stillness settle once again before I spoke.

"Why?"

"I…it's no excuse for my actions, but I drive myself crazy with worry. I want to protect you, but…I let it get out of hand. Most of all, I want to keep you from what I am – but I should never have said that to you."

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't let it get to me.

"Bella, this is not your fault."

I could feel the walls coming up, but I didn't want to lose this closeness.

"Edward…do you want to know what I was thinking just now?"

He smiled and kissed my neck. "If you're inclined to tell me, yes."

"I was having a little epiphany, because I was just realizing how hard you work to be with me, and how very much you love me. I just – I need you to know that, because you aren't at fault for being worried if this is what's best for me."

He didn't reply. We both fell into the soft silence again.

"But I should be sorry, because I push you to hard. I can be…stubborn I know, but it was wrong to try and push you toward my point of view. I see that now. I'm sorry."

"I know. You shouldn't worry about it. You don't have to be sorry."

He hesitated, probably deciding whether or not to try to convince me of his guilt. To present to me all the evidence he had against himself and then ask for my punishment.

"Thank you." The words barely made it into existence, just a light murmur against my skin.

My thoughts stopped. I was once again frozen in surprise. This didn't fit. Just like the openness and the vulnerability of laying his head under mine, this was entirely new. I supposed that should scare me, given months before I would have said I never wanted anything about him to change. But this was _good_. I probably should have seen it coming, even if it was only hitting me now.

Edward was different. He was…happier, I supposed, but the word didn't seem strong enough. There was an underlying joy to his countenance that had been growing. I'd seen it before. A little, when he'd understood that my _only_ reason for changing was to be with him. Again, when I'd agreed to marry him. And in the meadow, when he told me he wouldn't hold me to our deal, and I'd told him how I wanted to do things right. But this was still greater. This was pure, not mixed with anything so fleeting and light as happiness. It was raw and beautiful. I never wanted him to leave this moment.

So we stayed. Neither of us moved for what seemed to be a lifetime of it own, there, in the dark of the early morning. I, of course, had to breathe, and my chest rose and fell as I filled my lungs with the scent drifting from his hair. He, too, kept breathing; despite it's being not quite as necessary. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with my own. I'm not sure when, but eventually I drifted off to sleep.

. . .

When I woke, I saw that I'd moved and Edward had shifted with me. I was back in my usual place, tucked against his chest. I yawned and looked up to meet his eyes. In the brief seconds before I met his gaze, I had contemplated whether last nights events had been a dream. His golden eyes left no doubt. It was real.

I wasn't quite sure where that left us, if things were going to different now. But felt pretty sure I would like it.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you, too." I replied and snuggled closer to him. I closed my eyes again and let myself relish in the contentedness welling up inside me.


End file.
